


The Wait

by aravenwood



Series: Whumptober 2020 [5]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: (to stop pain), Carrying, Explosions, Hurt Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mission Fic, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Has Anxiety, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Needs a Hug, Poor Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Protective Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Suicide Attempt, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:01:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26874847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aravenwood/pseuds/aravenwood
Summary: After a mission gone wrong, Nicky is left trapped after an explosion and dying over and over, unable to do anything but wait for his rescue.Written for the Whumptober 2020 prompt "carrying".
Relationships: Andy | Andromache & Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Joe | Yusuf al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Whumptober 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947343
Comments: 28
Kudos: 538
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	The Wait

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! I apologise, Nicky - I put him through a lot in this fic and I feel slightly awful but also...in the first draft of this I was somehow even meaner to him. And I feel like at this point I just need to accept that I will ALWAYS be mean to my favourites...
> 
> TW for temporary suicide in an attempt to escape physical pain, descriptions of injuries and non-graphic descriptions of vomiting. Take care!
> 
> Enjoy!

Nicky hates it when they have to split up. He understands the practicality of it, of course - they can cover more ground in a much shorter period of time, and it’s a lot more subtle to have one person sneaking around in an area as opposed to a full group trying to keep out of sight - but when they’re separated they’re infinitely more vulnerable with no one around to watch their backs.

He can’t stomach the idea of any of them being left exposed like that, but if it means they can get this job done more quickly then he’ll live with his anxiety for as long as he has to.

Somewhere in the building there’s a man who has killed hundreds and tortured even more. He’s a monster, an international criminal. And he’s immune to all charges placed on him by any government. That’s why they’re here - this man has to die.

Nicky climbs the stairs to the third floor, his gun poised. The building has been oddly quiet so far, with no guards stationed anywhere but the front door. It had been so easy to get around them by sneaking in through one of the back windows. The others haven’t run into anyone either, they’ve said as much over the radio, and Nicky’s anxiety only increases.

“Is anyone else getting a bad feeling about this?” he asks down the radio, keeping his voice barely above a whisper to be safe.

“We’ll finish clearing the last couple of floors,” Andy says, and the fact that it doesn’t answer Nicky’s question tells him all he needs to know - she’s just as on edge as he is.

“Got you, boss,” he mutters, and hears the others do the same - his anxiety lessens for just a moment at the sound of Joe’s voice, just like it always does. It’s not quite as nice as having him right there next to him, shoulder to shoulder, or facing forwards while the other watches their backs.

He glances to the empty space on his right and sighs. It’s silly to miss Joe like this when the distance between them is so short. Andy has spoken to them before, warned them about all of the ways their connection can make them vulnerable - like they haven’t seen that for themselves - and told them to get past the longing when they’re separated.

She says it out of love and out of a desire to keep them safe, but there was a short time after that speech that Nicky seriously considered taking Joe and leaving her to what he believed was jealousy. Now he’s grateful for her warning because he does better now on his own than he did before it all those years ago.

But that doesn’t mean he has to like being without Joe.

He reaches the top floor and presses his back against it while he peers through the small window into the hallway, searching for any signs of life. But like every other floor, there’s nothing; no guards stationed on the other side of the door, no one pacing the hallway with guns at the ready, not even a glimpse of a shadow. He pulls the door open just enough that he can slip through the crack, and makes sure to take the time to close the door quietly instead of letting it slam.

Like it’ll make any difference, he thinks, but letting his guard down now would be stupid and irresponsible and Joe would never let him live it down.

He’s slow and methodical as he searches each of the rooms on this floor, careful to check every corner and shadow for enemies. Just like every other floor there’s nothing, but as he pauses to examine the desk in the largest of the offices he finally finds something of interest - most of the papers have been knocked onto the floor. Someone clearly left in a hurry.

“Shit,” he hisses through his teeth, then turns on his radio. “Boss, someone tipped them off. The place is cleared out.”

Andy lets out a string of curses so colourful that Nicky can’t help but smirk despite his own frustration. Half of them aren’t even in English and he’s sure he hears a dead language or two in there somewhere. No one says anything while she lets out her anger - that’s a sure fire way to have it aimed their way instead - and finally she lets out a long, heavy sigh. “Ok, let’s get out of here. Booker, Joe - you guys are closer to the front door, take out the guards on your way out. We’ll meet at the car.”

“You got it, boss,” says Joe and Booker echoes the sentiment a second later.

Nicky switches off his radio and lowers his gun so that it’s held a little less stiffly near his midsection. He does one last sweep of the room and that’s when he notices it - a safe beneath the desk, small and inconspicuous in the shadows. He lowers himself to one knee next to it, all the while reaching for his radio. “I’ve found a safe in this office, I’m going to check it out.”

“Good spot, let us know what you find,” Andy orders.

“Will do, boss.”

He does a quick examination of the safe and finds that it is indeed locked. A combination lock, he hopes that someone has been stupid enough to write it down.

It seems that his luck is in today. He finds it written on the top right corner of an invoice document, conveniently near the top of the pile. He rolls his eyes a little as he turns back to the safe and inputs the combination. It’s only as he hears the final click and pulls open the door of the safe that it suddenly occurs to him…this is too easy.

A second later, his entire world explodes in a blaze of fire.

\---

He comes to with a scream, or at least he intends for it to be a scream but it comes out as little more as a desperate wheeze as his body struggles to find precious oxygen. Everything hurts - burns, really. His head, his chest, his forearms. Everything else is less intense but still just as painful, and tears prick at the corners of his eyes as the pain threatens to overwhelm his sense. It’s a little easier to focus when his lungs finally manage to draw in some air, but there’s so little of it that his body is panicking all over again.

His back arches involuntarily in his body’s search for more oxygen, or at least it tries to. In reality his back lifts less than an inch off the ground and all of a sudden every pain in his body dulls as a new agony bursts forth in his stomach. He tries to scream again, finding even less air before, and again his body is panicking. It’s a cruel cycle of agony, struggling for air and panicking, which in turn causes even more pain in his stomach. He does everything he can to escape the pain; thrashes, sobs, and finally settles on bashing his head over and over into the hard ground beneath him.

He wants to die, wants this pain to stop. And finally, blessedly, his vision grows dark and the pain fades into nothingness. The gentle, familiar embrace of death.

When he comes back, it’ll be gone. He’ll be free, safe and in Joe’s arms. He has to be.

\---

But when he revives, he’s still alone and still so much pain that he can’t even begin to comprehend where it’s all coming from. He doesn’t scream this time, but it’s a close thing. The pain in his head, which was previously focused largely on his face, has spread to the back of his skull too - presumably from his rather brutal reaction to so much pain last time. His torso at least has settled down a little bit and he dares not move too much for fear of setting it off again.

He does manage to open his eyes this time, for all of the good that it does.

The world around him is almost pitch black, with only tiny slithers of light catching his surroundings. He can just barely make out a ceiling made of concrete and plasterboard hanging precariously less than an inch over his head - he doesn’t dare turn his head to find out what’s holding it up. The rest of his body clearly isn’t so lucky because he can feel something heavy on his legs, heavy enough that he can’t move them and can hardly even feel them at all. 

There’s something on his chest too, resting across his shoulders and weighing him down. Further down is a piece of wood, clearly a snapped desk leg from its jagged edge, pressed against his stomach. It’s not quite stabbing him but it’s painful and judging from the pain, it’s already done some damage. He doesn’t try to move to dislodge it, it’s not worth the pain. 

He’s never been fond of small spaces, even before Quynh was buried at sea. It stems, he thinks, from the time his older sisters locked him in their mother’s pantry while she was sick in bed. Nicky had already been so afraid of losing their mother and he remembered curling up on the floor outside of their parents’ room, sobbing so violently that he’d become lightheaded from a lack of water. He was the youngest in the family and his sisters were expected to take care of him as well as their mother - a tough responsibility for any child let alone children no older than ten years old. His crying had only stressed them out further until they couldn’t take it anymore. Bella, his oldest sister, had taken him by the hand, led him into the kitchen and pushed him into the cupboard. He’d been so stunned that he was unable to stop them from slamming the door shut behind him and wedging something beneath the handle.

They left him in there for three days, only letting him out when he’d gone silent from terror. He didn’t speak for weeks after that, and avoided the kitchen for even longer.

That fear has never left him, and he’s doing his best not to panic as the ceiling creaks above him. If it falls, it’s going to be even more difficult for the others to-.

Joe! What if he’s trapped too? What if they all are? He has no idea how big the explosion was, and he can’t stop the images in his head of Joe impaled, of Booker with his head crushed by a falling chunk of concrete, of Andy suffocating beneath the rubble over and over again, so terrified of feeling what Quynh feels. Each image makes him so sick that he feels bile rising in his throat. He panics, terrified he’s going to choke on it and be unable to expel it from his throat, and fights against the rubble in an attempt to get on his side enough to throw up. Every movement brings with it new waves of agony but he pushes, spurred on by terror and memories. 

With enough struggling, the rubble shifts just enough that he can his upper body ever so slightly to the side, just enough that he can empty his stomach onto the ground just next to his head. He wrinkles his nose at the smell and moves back to his original position. That’s when he hears the shifting and groaning of the rubble above him, and the wooden desk leg on his stomach is forced down through his flesh.

He doesn’t have a chance to scream before his body decides it can’t take any more pain and drags him down into the depths of unconsciousness.

\---

Everything is fuzzy when he comes to, the kind of fuzziness which comes directly following a death. But he doesn’t remember dying, doesn’t remember…anything really. All he remembers is pain, and lots of it. Pain that comes flooding back as the fog clears from his mind.

He’s…trapped. Can’t move, can’t see as the light is all gone. There’s stickiness on his skin, on his face and neck, on his chest and especially on his stomach. He should be panicking, he thinks - he’s trapped, after all. But he feels so weak and his mind feels sluggish at best, and panicking requires more energy than he can spare right now.

Yusuf…where’s Yusuf? Is he here too? He doesn’t remember seeing Joe, but then he doesn’t remember a lot and can’t bring himself to really think about it. But…but he should know. It’s Yusuf, he always knows where Yusuf is because they’re always together and where Yusuf goes, he follows. But if they’re not together now…

Does that mean Yusuf is dead? Properly dead, not coming back? When the thought enters his mind it’s all he can think about, and he starts to panic. “Yusuf!” he cries. “Yusuf, dove sei? Torna da me! Per favore! Yusuf, per favore!” He doesn’t care how weak his voice sounds or how just a few words steals his breath away. Doesn’t care how exhausted he feels or how frightening feeling this tired should be. He doesn’t care about any of it.

He just wants Yusuf.

\---

There are voices. Several of them, coming from somewhere beyond the darkness. He can just barely make out what they’re saying as he stares at nothing with his eyes barely open and his stomach throbbing mercifully. Nothing else really hurts now, the pain in his head and arms and chest faded into nothingness. 

He wishes his stomach would heal too. 

The voices are getting louder. They’re shouting. They sound angry, or maybe afraid - is there much difference, his exhausted mind questions. He tries to focus on the voices but the pain doesn’t let him, it keeps dragging him back and refuses to let him drift, even for a moment. The cold doesn’t help any, the violent shivers sending new waves of agony with every movement. He shouldn’t be this cold.

“Yusuf,” he mumbles, and just that word alone has him panting from exertion. He wants Yusuf, wants to be held and told that everything will be alright, even if it won’t be. 

Yusuf is nice like that. Sometimes he lies to make Nicky less scared and although it used to be infuriating now it’s the kindest thing in the world. 

He thinks he hears his name, but he drifts off before he’s sure.

\---

There’s light when he opens his eyes, so bright that he squeezes his eyes tight shut and tries to lift a hand to hide his face. But his arm won’t move. 

“Nicky, look at me! Look at me! Nicolo, can you hear me? Please, talk to me!”

His eyelids are heavy and the world so bright after so much darkness. But that voice…Yusuf…He can’t not respond. He forces his eyes to open and squints at the face hovering above him. There’s a layer of concrete and plasterboard between them, with Yusuf peering down at him through the hole above his head. “Yusuf…” he croaks.

Yusuf winces but forces a smile. “There you are. I can’t leave you alone for a second, can I?” 

Nicky huffs out a laugh, only to groan and squeeze his eyes shut at the pain it causes. “How else do you expect me to get your attention?” he mumbles between shallow breaths as he tries to get the pain back under control.

There’s a hand on his face all of a sudden, calloused fingers stroking his cheek gently. “I can show you many better ways, Nicolo. Since we are returning to our former names.” Yusuf’s voice wobbles a little at the last sentence.

Oh. Nicky pauses and forces himself to think. “Joe,” he finally whispers. “You are Joe now.” How could he have forgotten?

“That’s better,” Joe says, and Nicky doesn’t have to open his eyes to know that he’s smiling. “Now, let’s get you out of there. Can you climb out if we pull?”

Nicky shakes his head. “No. There is a…table leg. In my stomach. I am…” He drifts off with a sigh, exhausted once more. He can feel himself drifting off, despite how desperately he wants to stay with Joe, wants to cling to his hand until everything is better again.

“Nicky? Stay with me. Nicky? Nicolo!”

\---

He wakes up, and the pain is gone. That’s the first thing he notices.

The second thing he notices is that he can move.

And the third is that he’s being cradled against a solid, muscular chest, and that he seems to be moving.

“Joe?” he whispers, opening his eyes. Immediately a pair of deep brown eyes meet his own, and it feels like a weight has been lifted from his chest - no pun intended. He’s safe, he realises. Covered in so much blood that they're going to have to burn these clothes, but safe. Not pinned, not impaled, not in so much pain that he can scarcely even breathe without wanting to scream and cry. It’s the best feeling in the world right now. 

Well, second. Being cradled in Joe’s arms will always win. 

Joe doesn’t say anything to him. He doesn’t have to - the look on his face, the expression of absolute and unconditional adoration says it all for him. He’s safe and he’s well, and Joe won’t let this happen again.

Nicky smiles softly and presses a kiss to Joe’s jawline, the only place he can reach without having to move too much. And then he settles back, rests his head on Joe’s shoulder and dozes off with the knowledge that he will wake up with Joe at his side.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
